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I’m pretty certain he’s tried to turn them all into Barbies on multiple occasions, but the cane still won’t stand for it. Thank goodness magic is apparently loyal to its makers.
“Well, Dad is kind of a workaholic, so honestly, I feel like all the hard work you’ve been putting in would have convinced him.” I chew my lip, and a part of me wants to play with my hair, but I just spent an hour spraying and curling it to perfection, so I don’t touch it.
We spend a couple of minutes brainstorming options that range from turning Dad into a candy cane light post—which I vehemently object—to continuing to slow-play our relationship, which has been ridiculously hard. It’s only been three weeks, but I swear I have finger pain from the number of times I’ve jilled off after a sweet little date with one of them. Just this afternoon, Dem stole my spatula right as I was about to pull cookies off a cookie sheet, and I had to chase him around to get it back. Then, he’d stolen a kiss and my breath.
My fingers had gone to work as soon as I’d gotten home tonight, remembering the naughty look in his eyes.
“No getting a horny face right now,” Gus grumbles.
Nico agrees. “He’s about two seconds from kicking us out of this realm, lass. He’s just waiting for us to make a mistake. I can feel it as sure as the sun.”
I close my eyes and try to clear my head. “You’re right. Sorry.” I swallow hard. Ugh. They’ve been trying to be good. The refuse to do more than kiss me, which frustrates the fuck out of me because they’re demons. They aren’t meant to be good. And my own naughty side wants them to act on this attraction between us.
Cal steps forward, his eyes calm and his smile placid. “Don’t worry about it, Joy. I’ve got a plan.” I don’t think he’s lying. And that makes me very, very nervous. Because what kind of plan could a demon have when being good doesn’t work?
A bad one.
* * *
We’reall seated around a thick mahogany table. White candles flicker in silver candelabras, and 1920s instrumental Christmas music plays through a phonograph because when he’s not working, Dad prefers the scratch and texture of old records. He loves items that were made by hand, not machine. It’s the craftsman in him.
In front of me, a bowl of lobster bisque sits uneaten, the smell a tempting spice, but my stomach is as chunky as half-mixed cookie dough.
Dad’s frowning at Dem’s explanation of his history. How he worked his way up the ranks of Hell by stealing the credit from other demons. Dad hears stealing and just shuts down. He doesn’t recognize Dem’s brilliance. He doesn’t see how clever Dem was to not commit any of his apparent crimes, but just slide in at the last moment and claim them as his own. Dad’s missing the point. The point is that Dem isn’t nearly as bad as he thought.
“I brought you a gift,” Bryn says, trying to jump in and dilute the tension.
Dad’s eyes widen a bit, and I can tell he’s caught off guard.
Yes! Hope buds in my stomach as my adorable sloth demon passes over a red box with a bow to Dad.
Dad can’t help but smile. He does love gifts. He undoes the bow and lifts the lid, his smile freezing on his face. “What is this?” he asks, pulling out a sugar cube.
Oh no. I have a feeling I know where this is going. And I don’t think it’s going to be good.
“Sugar,” Bryn replies with a wide, lazy smile, oblivious to the fact that everyone else in the room just tensed. “The first time I saw your daughter, she fed me a sugar cube, so I thought…”
“You thought to remind me of the fact that I should have turned you all into holiday doormats instead of reindeer? Then this whole debacle might never have—”
“Dad!” I interject, my cheeks flaming. I cannot believe he just said that in front of my mates! “If they hadn’t been around to help me, we never would have been able to build a new Christmas cane! Bryn carried the water of innocence in his mouth!” I don’t mention that he was carrying my innocence-soaked panties, because that’s a detail no father ever needs to know.
Dad’s cheeks get rosy with his own temper, and his wings twitch. We are about to have a full-fledged argument when Cal’s voice slides across the table, as smooth as butter.
“Mr. Kringle, I know that we’re not conventional mates for your daughter. We’re not the typical sort of beings that live in your realm.”
Dad’s eyes flicker over to Cal and narrow. I grab my soup spoon and briefly contemplate trying to slit my wrists with it. Yes. With a spoon. That’s how uncomfortable I am right now.
“So, we’ve discussed it. And if you require it, we’d be willing to ask Lucillania to release us from our positions as demons so that we can be with Joy.”
Both Dad and I let out audible gasps. The moment of shock drags on as a trumpet plays a little bit of a jazz solo in the background, oblivious to the fact that my guys just offered to give up their magic, their purpose…for me.
“Really?” Dad’s face gets contemplative.
I stand up and wield my spoon like a weapon, waving it at Dad. “No. Don’t even! Just. No.” I turn to my guys. “I really appreciate your offer, but I can’t let you do that. I can’t have you give up who you are. I can’t make you change, just for me. That wouldn’t be right. The offer, though, the fact that you’d be willing…” I trail off as I get a bit choked up. My eyes grow annoyingly misty as I try to make eye contact with each one of them and thank them with my gaze. “It’s the best gift that anyone's ever given me. I love you all so much.”
Behind me, Dad grumbles, tossing his napkin on the table beside his bowl as though he’s suddenly lost his appetite. “You’re clever, I’ll give you that. Gah! Fine. You've got my blessing. But you can’t touch my girl until you’ve sworn your souls to her. And that’s not happening until after Christmas.”
Cal looks my Dad straight in the eye. “Yes, sir. I promise.”
